Love is not Ours to Command
by TheXYZ
Summary: Eric Cartman finally realizes he is in love with a certain worshipped Jewish boy. But Kyle is already deeply in love with Stan, and that burns Cartman up. One day the anger gets the best of him. *THIS STORY CONTAINS BOYxBOY UNGRAPHIC RAPE*


I watched him from afar as he got together with Stan

I watched him from afar as he got together with Stan. I watched how the two talked to each other, how they kissed each other, how they touched each other. I watched them smile goofy, romantic smiles at each other. I even listened in on them sleeping together once.

I have always been watching him, even before he and Stan became a couple. When I first noticed this, I reasoned with myself. It was natural, I thought, for me to be interested in him. The fact that he had morphed from the dorky, ugly Jewish kid I had hung around with for years to one of the most gorgeous boys in our class was bound to intrigue me, just as it had intrigued others. I even told myself that deep down I was hoping for the same thing- to turn from an ugly duckling to a swan- but that was it. Nothing more, and nothing less.

I continued to watch him as his beauty grew. Now, when he was called a Jew, it was no longer an insult. He was proud of it, because there was nothing about him to be ashamed of, and he knew it. He was amazingly handsome, disarmingly charming, tongue-twistingly smart, wildly funny, and morally ramrod straight. In fact, he was near perfect, and while he never flaunted it, everyone knew it well. If that was what being Jewish led too, well, it sure wasn't something to be embarassed of. I bet if another Jewish kid would have come to our school he would have been insanely popular, just because he was Jewish, and Kyle Broflovski the Perfect was too.

When my fascination grew, instead of dying away, I continued to reason with myself. I hated the boy. So it stood to logic that I would have some weird, twisted attraction to him. Like a love-hate relationship, just with no love.

After a while, even though I myself started to become more and more attractive- well, less and less unattractive would probably be closer to the truth- I never, never amounted to his beauty. I wasn't overweight, but was still decidedly big boned. That made me the large, tall bully. Whoopee.

And then Kyle and Stan hooked up. After the general 'Broflovski is _gay_' hubbub, I thought that finally his days as Mr. Popular were over.

But no. It was like some kind of sick cosmic joke. Our intolerant, ignorant school, never known for it's acceptance of different people, decided to accept him. Decided that being gay was okay. That it wasn't his fault. And he was back to being Kyle the Insanely Worshipped. And I was back to being Eric Cartman the Insanely Jealous Racist Bully.

And then I was forced to watch Kyle and Stan be insanely in love with each other. Like the epitome of romance. They were fucking Romeo and Juliet, except probably more like Romeo and Julio. At first I thought it just annoyed me because now I was being pushed out of our little group even more than before. Now it wasn't just four guys, it was KyleAndStan and KennyAndHillary and that Cartman kid. I was an outcast, and while nobody actually told me to leave, I found myself hanging out with them less and less.

Surely this, I thought, was what caused the tightening in my chest every time I saw the two jerks holding hands. What I felt when Broflovski the Idolized and Marsh the Wonderful kissed or hugged or even just walked next to each other. Not anything else. What else would there be?

And then one day it dawned on me. I was jealous, but not because I was being pushed out of the clique. I wasn't jealous of Kyle and Stan being so perfect together.

I was jealous of Stan. Only Stan.

Why would I be jealous of Stan, if not for…?

Oh, shit, I thought. Oh, shit. I had let myself sink into actually crushing on Kyle. I hadn't ended my obsession, I hadn't said to myself 'Just _stop,_ Eric Cartman.' No. Now I was entrenched, and there was no way out.

With my new realization came increased envy. Every time I saw Stan my rage increased. It was stupid, really, because Kyle didn't and would never love me, so what difference did it make if he was single or if he was with Stan?

But as much as I rationalized with myself, one day I couldn't help it. I had had a bad day, and my temper was high, and he looked particularly good that day. His hair was such a vibrant red and his eyes were such a lively green, and he was smiling so happily I couldn't contain myself.

The bastard was so blissful, so joyful. He didn't know what pain truly meant. Holding onto his little Stan, and so fucking ignorant. He didn't know what I felt- on the outside I had continued to make crude jokes about their gayness, wondering aloud who was the uke and the seme in their relationship. He didn't know that inside I was a hotbed of turmoil.

So I caught him alone and I started to give it to him. At first it was just verbal. I yelled at him and called him names like dirty Jew or fucking gaywad. Then it escalated to being physical, and I started hitting him, raining down blows on his flawless body hard and fast. And finally it turned sexual. Because I couldn't help myself, when he was pressed against the wall like that, trembling and looking so helpless and scared.

I started kissing him brutally, forcing my tongue into his mouth and gagging him, biting on his lips till they bled. This alarmed him far more than when I had hit him or shouted at him. He started calling for Stan, and that just got me madder. He wanted fucking Stan, didn't he? That football playing asshole Stan.

I ripped off Kyle's shirt, and he started getting really scared. He started to fight back, screaming and struggling, writhing under my iron grip. But it was to no avail. I was twice as big as him, and five times as strong.

I watched as those green eyes opened wide in panic as I pulled off his pants, and he started fighting like a madman, kicking and biting. I hit him hard across the face and he was submissive for a minute. Long enough for me to finish the undressing and push myself inside of him.

He let out an ear splitting shriek, but we were in an abandoned spot and nobody would hear him. I continued thrusting, harder and harder, all the while marveling at his perfect body.

His eyes filled and tears ran down his face. He made no effort to contain them. But I was in ecstasy. Even though Kyle was crying, he was so fucking beautiful I still felt in the high heavens. He was that good. I couldn't help but wonder what sex with him must have been like for Stan, because he really loved Stan. If _raping _him felt like this… I shuddered.

The thought finally passed through my head, that I was raping Kyle. I suddenly felt sickened with myself and stopped, giving him one final bruising kiss and slapping him as hard as I could.

He looked up at me slowly, and I finally saw all the marks I had inflicted upon his body. He was still perfect, but he was a fallen angel now. His eyes were hurt and scarred. I couldn't bear to look at him anymore, so I told the fucking Jew to go clean himself up and left.

I heard him gasp for Stan from behind me, and I remained emotionless. I continued to walk away. From the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw Stan run to Kyle. How the fuck he found him I didn't know. Maybe it had to do with that true love crap, that sixth sense that could lead you straight to your lover.

I quickened my pace, but I didn't get away fast enough to not see Kyle cry into Stan and to not see Stan's look of shock, then disgust, and finally pure hate for me.

I walked and walked, not knowing exactly where I was going. For the first time, I felt guilt. I had maimed something so innocent and pure. He had been like an angel, and I had dirtied him, reduced him to dirt. I really was a monster. I had tried to deny it, I had thought I had grown out of it since my childhood. But no. I was still the asshole I had always been, and I would never change. Never.

My feet led me to Stark's Pond. I blinked at my mind's logic, and then smiled a twisted smile. God has a sick sense of humor. But now I felt ready to play along.

I slowly lowered one foot into the water. It was freezing, and the cowardly voice in my head almost changed my mind about what I was to do. But I thought of Kyle again, and firmly continued submerging myself, inch by icy inch, cursing loudly all the while.

The cold water was really not that cold, I decided after a while. It cleansed me, purged me of my sins. I went in deeper and deeper, until I was up to my head.

I took one final look around, and then fully immersed myself. I was finally in my element. A dirty, dark demon in a dirty, dark pond. I belonged here, was made to be here, to crawl through the grime and haunt the innocent.

I didn't raise my head. Instead, I opened my eyes underwater and saw darkness. I felt nothing but pain and saw nothing but blackness. My mind started spinning from lack of oxygen, but I resisted the impulse to rise and take a breath of air. I was doing the world a favor. After all the pain I had caused, I had to give the world at least one last gift.

I couldn't think clearly anymore. Everything was foggy. Who was I anyway? Eric… Eric fucking Cartman. Never was anything and never would amount to anything.

What would they write on my tombstone? Here lies a manipulative racist sociopath, a cruel boy only his mother could love. Thank God he died when he was young, before he could cause any world wide sorrow.

Thought started ebbing, and I started gulping in water, to make sure I would die and not just black out. I felt myself sinking, being pulled down like a stone into the depths of the murky water. I half smiled, and just breathed in more water, feeling myself choke.

My eyes fluttered close, and I felt myself close to the end. The last thing I saw was Kyle, his green eyes wide with panic and hurt as he floated through my mind. And then even he faded away, and the world turned cold.


End file.
